


Show Me

by Quibbles



Category: GOT7
Genre: Abusive Relationships (Past), Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Angst, Daddy Kink, Domestic Fluff, Drug Use, Fluff and Angst, Light BDSM, M/M, Markson (Sexual), Master/Pet, Past Abuse, Praise Kink, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Smut, Stiff! Jaebum, Stripper! Jackson, Sub! Jackson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2018-08-09 17:45:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7811308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quibbles/pseuds/Quibbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Im Jaebum has always been accused of overthinking and not knowing how to live life freely. His walls are high and he likes it that way. <br/>Jackson is an exotic dancer that enjoys having his own free will. Being tied to anyone is not a part of his plans, especially not becoming someone's 'kept boy' like Mark. </p><p>I'm not sure where this is going, join me for the ride!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea I've had for a very long time. It'll be the least fluffy story I've written (not that there won't be fluff, but much more angst than usual). Be prepared! Main pairing is Jaeson but there will be flashbacks/talks etc about Jinbum.
> 
> WARNING: Some chapters could possibly be triggering. They will come with warnings!
> 
> Chapter 1 warning for abusive actions.

Im Jaebum knew how to have fun. Of all the accusations that cut through the air—tense and hot and suffocating, pushing them further and further past the point of return, that one that echoed most prominently in his mind was that one.

_“You don’t listen to me--you don’t even know how to have fun.”_

_“I know how to have fun.”_

_“Did you hear the first half of what I said? Do you even give a shit about me anymore?”_

_“I know how to have fun.”_

Looking back, which was something he had been doing obsessively in the 13 days since the breakup, parroting the phrase, _‘I know how to have fun’_ hadn’t been the best idea. Not while Jinyoung stood there with tears clinging to his lashes, his hands balled at his sides.

Jaebum remembered watching them tremble, he remembered thinking about reaching for them, holding them, unfurling them. But Jinyoung had been mad at him, he had said things that couldn’t be taken back, things like ‘you’re heartless’ and something about  _walls_.

Jaebum thought it strange that Jinyoung was the one hurling insults at him, and he was the one standing there silently—yet Jinyoung was crying. It seemed selfish; he had told Jinyoung that it didn’t make sense, and Jinyoung had only gotten angrier. Irrationality wasn’t something new about Jinyoung, but this had come straight out of left field.

If he was  _heartless_ , he wouldn’t have spent this much time thinking about the breakup after things were over between them. He thought about it all, all the time, the entire relationship, all 5 months.

“Sir?” the barista was saying, and Jaebum was suddenly aware that he was standing at the front of the line in the coffee shop, and that he had been asked a question. “Yes?” He said dully.

“I asked if you wanted sugar or not.”

“No. Black.” Jaebum shook his head deftly to clear it of his thoughts, before reaching into his back pocket for his wallet as the barista quoted the price to him.

“ _Shit.”_  He snapped. The older woman a few spots behind him visibly scowled and he wanted to turn and stick his tongue out at her. He was in  **that**  kind of mood. “I forgot my wallet.” He had been scatter-brained since the break-up, and more so now that he had to go to Bambam’s birthday thing tonight. He wasn’t in the mood to socialize.

Jinyoung would be there too.

He searched around in his pockets in hopes his wallet would appear suddenly, knowing it wouldn’t. “I got 4 hours of sleep and I need to write my paper  _now_.” He explained to deaf ears; the barista blinked at him, probably smug that he now had the power to make Jaebum’s morning much worse if he chose.  “I’m— _fuck_ ,” Jaebum hissed under his breath. How had he forgotten his wallet? He had literally dragged himself out of bed and down to the coffee shop for this one reason. It was  _too early_  for this bullshit.

“Here.” An arm shot into Jaebum’s peripheral vision, it’s hand clutching a crumbled bill. “Pay for your drink before this old lady has a heart attack from all your swearing.”

Jaebum swivelled around, dazed, catching the gaze of his saviour, and he recognized him—he had seen him here once or twice before. Jet-black hair underneath a silver snapback, obnoxiously gorgeous round brown eyes, full, red lips.

 Jaebum hesitated momentarily. “Are you sure?” he asked, clearing his throat. The guy was practically swimming in an oversized black hoodie, twin cross earrings hanging from his ears. His smile was _something else_ , reassuring and playful all at once.

“Yes. Take it before there’s an uprising.” Jaebum felt the bill being pressed into his hand, but his eyes lingered on the other man’s face, his eyes and his almost mischievous half-smile. Jaebum felt himself smiling back, thoughts fading and leaving his mind momentarily relaxed. ‘Cute.’

“ _Sir?”_

“Right. Thank you, so much.” Jaebum hurriedly paid and took his drink, glancing back at the guy all the while. His smile was amused now. He had a pleasant aura; Jaebum wanted to say something, but he really did have to get on his paper, and besides, what would he say? ‘I just broke up with my boyfriend, rebound?’ He didn’t look like a rebound guy, with his smile and his…face. He looked like a proper dating sort of guy. Jaebum wasn’t looking for a proper dating sort of guy at the moment.

He backed out of the line, nodding at his saviour before striding towards the door. It would be a miracle if he managed to get his assignment done in time, maybe going out afterwards to celebrate with Bambam wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

 

 

\--

 

 

“Did you really have to choose a club for your birthday?” Jaebum asked over the pounding techno thud of music in the background. “Really?”

“Hey! It’s my birthday and I turned 20!” Bambam flashed his id wildly at Jaebum, as he had been doing the entire night to anyone that gave him the opening to. “I know you don’t like loud noises, or girls, but who’s birthday is it, hm??” With that he tossed back a shot of Soju and beamed, and Jaebum smiled weakly despite himself.

“Remind me why I keep a brat like you around?” he asked fondly, paying for Bambam’s next drink. “As long as you promise not to dab on the dance floor, I’m okay with things.”

Bambam was one of Jaebum’s oldest friends, he’d moved into Jaebum’s complex when he was 9 years old, and despite the 7-year age gap, they had gotten along well, Jaebum treating him like a little brother as time went on, helping him with his homework, playing video games together. When Jaebum had gone off to University, Bambam had been devastated, and made it a goal to work towards getting into the same University as Jaebum.

In the end, he had, and even though he was an Undergrad student while Jaebum was a PhD. Candidate, he was still pleased to have finally ‘caught up’ and be attending the same institution.

Jinyoung wasn’t there yet, and Jaebum was drinking pre-emptively, stomach tying up in knots at the idea that he might have to talk to him again. The last time they had talked, things hadn’t gone well. It was only because Jaebum had a soft spot for Bambam that he would put up with this loud throbbing club full of Undergrad students.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.” Jinyoung strode towards the bar, smiling sheepishly, eyes trained directly at Bambam, even as Jaebum stood beside him. Jaebum was okay with that. “Parking around here is so hard. Happy birthday buddy.” He hugged Bambam lightly. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

“I’m good on drinks!” Bambam hoped off of the bar stool tipsily, grinning. “Jaebum’s been buying all night, you should get him to buy you one while he’s still feeling generous. I’m going to dance before Youngjae and Yugyeom scare all the girls away.” He laughed too hard at his own joke, clearly in a fantastic mood, and offered Jaebum a quick dab before shuffling his way back to the dance floor, leaving Jinyoung Jaebum standing there awkwardly.

“One lemon drop, please.” Jinyoung asked the bartender, standing there a few steps from Jaebum, making no move to sit down. His dark brown hair was styled messily, and he was wearing his thick-rimmed glasses, and a thin t-shirt that exposed his arms. Jaebum had always preferred Jinyoung in glasses. It was interesting to think of all the things he wished he had said while they were dating, things that wouldn’t be okay to say now. Jaebum had always wondered how he had landed someone as attractive as Jinyoung. He was cute and slender without being too tall, and a lot of things that were Jaebum’s type.

Jaebum finished his drink, willing his senseless thoughts away and turning to Jinyoung. He wasn’t going to play the silence game, it was pointless. “I parked in the S lot, they don’t charge much there. Did you find a good spot?” An olive branch. For a second it seemed Jinyoung wasn’t going to say anything, and if so  _fuck him_. This was stupid. He stood there holding his drink, looking at it, sipping it. Then finally he acknowledged Jaebum, turning to him.

“Yeah, I found it. I remember you telling me about it before actually.” The hint of a smile. Jaebum hated that he still reacted, that it still did something to him. He wanted to see more of it. “Parking’s never been your forte.” He said. Jinyoung’s smile widened as he looked down at his drink—they were both thinking about the time they had tried to find parking near a small amusement park that overcharged way too much for parking. They had ended up driving around for a full hour in the blazing sun, probably spending more on gas than parking would have costed, Jinyoung saying the entire time ‘I’m  **not**  paying, it’s  _principle_.’

Jaebum wondered if Jinyoung was thinking about the sex they’d had after, because now he was. It had lasted even longer than their drive looking around for parking. Jinyoung was so  _different_  in bed— _car._  He lifted his eyes to Jinyoung’s, just in time to watch his smile fade, his cheeks flush.  _Yup_ , he was.

“When will we learn to just spend the money?” Jaebum said quickly, trying to fill the silence. Jinyoung opened his mouth to speak, interrupted by a man that emerged at his side. “Did you find it okay? Sorry I ditched, I didn’t want to keep Ba—”

 Jinyoung started to speak, then suddenly his words were swallowed by the man’s mouth against his, and the kiss was long and excessive, the mans hand pushing it’s way up into Jinyoung’s hair, his other arm around his waist. It all screamed  _domination_. That explained the messy hair. Jaebum sat there with a stupid expression on his face, blinking slowly as time failed to move on. It was a tv kiss, eyes fluttering shut and a lot of soft sounds. Jaebum listened to his heart beat in his ears, he couldn’t look away, not until it was over did he look away. His cheeks burned.

“This is my…” Jinyoung sounded breathless, looking sheepishly in Jaebum’s direction as Jaebum tossed his drink back.

“Boyfriend. Song Kyungil.” Jaebum ignored the hand that was offered, standing. He suddenly wanted to be  _anywhere_ else. “I’m dancing.” He said shortly, pushing his way into the crowd. Things were spinning a little, but he hadn’t drunk that much.

When had they broken up? How long had it been? Not even a month. It didn’t matter, Jinyoung didn’t owe him fuck all. Sure he had been the one that made it seem like he was completely  _devastated_  and moving on was going to be—no.

“I’m heading out.”

“Wait. You just got here.” Yugyeom frowned. “Don’t go, Bambam’s excited you finally came out with us.”

“Sorry.” Jaebum wanted to say more, but it was all he could manage. His throat was so tight.

“But—”

“It’s okay. We’ll let him know.” Youngjae said quickly, shooting a look towards the bar, where Jinyoung stood close to his boyfriend.

“But—” Yugyeom started again, confused.

“Yugyeom, read the room.” Youngjae chastised, as Jaebum strode towards the back exit into the barely lit alleyway. He bent over the second the door slammed behind him, clutching his knees and trying to catch his breath—a bad idea as he stood right by the dumpster, trying to stop the swimming in his head. This was normal, they weren’t dating anymore, Jinyoung had broken up with  _him_ , it was time, it needed to happen, this wasn’t a surprise. He didn’t care.

His eyes burned. 

“No, FUCK YOU. Get off of me, I’m done with your bullshit.”

“Jackson, you can’t do shit without me you know that, right? Where will you go?”

Jaebum straightened slowly, looking over the top of the dumpster towards the end of the alleyway. Couples drunkenly fighting at this time of night was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Anywhere, anywhere, I’d rather sleep on the FUCKING GROUND than with you again.”  They were standing closely together, the two men, one definitely older, looking to be in his 40’s from what Jaebum could see, his physique well-built for someone his age. He was wearing what looked to be an expensive suit. His hand was on the other mans neck; gripping tightly. Jaebum suddenly realized the other person was the boy that had bought him coffee that morning. Jackson.

“I won’t let you.” Jackson spat, trying to pull away. He was pressed against the concrete wall, expression steely.

“Jackson, I can’t live without you, you know." It sounded like a statement of fact.

“Try.” Jackson’s voice was suddenly faint—Jaebum realized the hand against his neck was tightening. Jackson’s expression was unwavering, defiance gleaming in his eyes. And then suddenly--It happened quickly Jaebum gasped as the hand, heavy-looking and angry, pulled up and hit Jackson across his face, so hard Jaebum didn’t have time to think before rushing to this virtual stranger, anger burning in his chest.

“Don’t touch him.” Jaebum’s voice was low; both Jackson and his abuser looked towards him in surprise. Jackson’s lower lip was bleeding.

“Who the fuck is this. One of your tricks?”

“I don’t know him.” Jackson said quickly, his expression suddenly changing. “Seriously, I-I don't.” He looked fearful. The alleyway exit door opened suddenly and a group of people poured from it, chattering loudly, and the man stepped back from the two boys, turning on his heels. “I’m not done with you.” He spat over his shoulder to Jackson. Jaebum wanted to punch him in the face but the fear in the boy’s—Jackson’s eyes, stopped him.

Jaebum realized Jackson was shaking, visible bruise marks gleaming on his pale neck. His lips were split in two places. He looked different from before, dark eyeliner smudged around his eyes, wearing a loose pair of track pants and a thin white tank top. His breathing was quick and shallow. Jaebum didn’t know what to do.

“Are you…I can…call someone.” he said stiffly.

“No.” Jackson said quickly. “Don’t. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re bleeding.” Jaebum responded dumbly. “I’ll take you to the hospital.”

“No.” Jackson said, more adamantly. “I just…need to get to bed.”

“Okay. I’ll take you home…” Jaebum said. “I’m kind of…tipsy, I’ll get a cab to take you home.”

“I don’t…have…” Jackson exhaled, raking his fingers through his hair. “I’ll be fine okay. You don’t know me.”

“You can sleep at my place. Just tonight. You need a place to sleep right?” Jaebum was drunker than he thought he was, drunk and vulnerable and confused. He wanted to help this boy with the bleeding lips and bruise marks. He looked terrified, and trying hard to appear anything else. He stood with his arms crossed, still shaking, quiet.

“You’re not going to kill me in my sleep are you?”

“The market's low for internal organs right now.” Jaebum said weakly. It was an awful joke, but Jackson smiled, the same smile from that morning. It made Jaebum want to make another stupid joke. He wanted to help. That smile would have made him want to help even if he hadn’t been drinking, and he wasn’t a helpful person.

“Are you sure?” Jackson hesitated.

“You got me coffee,  _so_ …”

“You’re funny.” Jackson mumbled, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. His pale cheek was still red from earlier, but he didn't seem concerned.

“I'm glad someone thinks so.” Jaebum smiled ruefully. "Come on, let's ditch this joint." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaebum let's Jackson sleep over for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so into this story I thought of a new chapter all day and ended up banging one out in a couple of hours. MUST SLEEP. I hope you like it!

“How is it looking?” Jaebum asked, looking towards Jackson from where he stood in front of the coffee machine, brewing a cup. He had sobered up considerably during the cab ride home—it was about half-way home that it truly dawned on him that he was allowing a total stranger with smudged eyeliner and a split lip into his home. It had been too late to change his mind without looking like a complete asshole, especially as Jackson had thanked him more than once, his voice soft and hoarse. He hadn’t fully stopped shaking for nearly 10 minutes, but now, as he sat there behind the kitchen island, he looked as if nothing had happened to him at all, save for the fading bruise marks against his neck, and his lip, to which he held an icepack.

“Better.” Jackson responded, moving the icepack away from his mouth to speak, before replacing it. He was looking all around the kitchen, at the backlit marble counters of the kitchen island and double door stainless-steel fridge, the mahogany cabinets, the chrome black tiled flooring. Soft instrumental music played faintly in the background.

“I get decent grants for my program.” Jaebum blurted as the coffee machine shut off. “My parents insist I stay somewhere close and well-secured so…” He wasn't sure why he felt the need to apologize, but the words spilt out before he had time to think. Jackson blinked, pushing his hair off of his forehead. Jaebum counted 6 piercings in his ears. He poured a cup for both himself and Jackson—decaf. Sobering up seemed like a good idea right now.

“You have that fancy coffee machine, why do you go to the coffee shop all the time?” Jackson asked, taking the cup and sipping at the hot liquid. “Is pressing the button too difficult? You have a shower I can use? I’m hungry.” He said everything in rapid succession, each sentence carrying a different inflection. As he spoke, he swiveled around on the spinning stool, peeking into the living room through the double doors, half-open.

“I can order pizza.” Jaebum responded, checking his watch. “And shower…sure.” He put his half-empty mug down, his fuzzy, tipsy mind slowly whirring back to life. “It’s just down the hall here.” He glanced behind him to make sure Jackson was following, watching as he stared openly at everything in the hallway as they walked. Pushing open the door to the bathroom, which was designed similarly to the kitchen, all dark chrome and marble, he pushed open the towel cupboard.

“Towel’s here…” he mumbled, turning just in time to watch Jackson, standing in the middle of the bathroom, stripping his tank top off. It was like something out of a film, the painfully slow way his arms came up to pull his shirt up and over his head, his abdominal muscles clenching and releasing set by set. Jaebum clutched the towel, dumb-founded, overwhelmed suddenly by emotional whiplash. 

Jackson’s body was something out of a magazine, his waist narrow and defined, a dark trail of hair leading Jaebum’s line of vision from his belly button to the top of his pants, where his boxers peeked out, flat against his stomach and defined hipbones. The way he stood there with his legs apart, the front of his pants bulging just slightly. He had a small tattoo in English right above one of his hipbones.  Jaebum blinked groggily, letting his eyes fall to the floor as Jackson finished pulling his shirt off, but not before noting that his arm muscles were just as defined and breath-taking as his stomach.

If Jaebum had been _any_ drunker--scratch that, if he couldn’t still see the bruise marks against Jackson’s neck, if the image of him trembling and pressed against the wall wasn’t still fresh in his mind, unzipping his pants and seeing where that trail lead would be the first thing Jaebum would want to do. He was suddenly aware of how aroused he was, how tight his own jeans seemed now. He wanted to get on his knees, sans prayer pose. 

Jackson dropped his shirt to the floor, reaching up to card his fingers through his already tousled hair, and Jaebum lifted his eyes to see that he was smiling, teeth biting loosely at his lower lip. Jaebum wondered if he was a good kisser. He looked like a _damn_ good kisser. He smelled like mint. Jaebum wanted to push his mouth against Jackson’s. His face was warm.

“Show's not free.” Jackson mumbled. Jaebum’s wandering eyes hadn’t gone unnoticed.

 Before Jaebum could think of a badly-worded response, Jackson stepped forward, his eyes heavy-lidded and swimming with something that Jaebum couldn’t describe. His skin pricked in goose-bumps. “Sorry.” He started gruffly. His tongue suddenly felt heavy, he was hyper-aware of Jackson’s red lips and thick lashes, all too aware of the look in his eyes and the strain that was growing in his pants. Those eyes, that expression, it was unreal.

Jackson reached out and Jaebum’s breath hitched. He was ready to say ‘no, let’s not’ even though _fuck_ did he want to. The things he wanted to do to this man in this moment—thinking about it was a bad idea. Jackson’s fingers moved to hook through the loop of Jaebum’s jeans, and his eyes flitted towards the towel. “Can you make it Pepperoni and Mushroom?” he said, taking the towel from Jaebum’s hands. 

“What?” Jaebum asked, staring at the towel as it left his fingers.

“You’re getting pizza right?”

“I…yes.” Jaebum said finally, immensely confused. Jackson’s hand had moved, the look in his eyes that just moments ago would have gotten Jaebum to do a long list of unspeakable things, was gone.

“Pepperoni and Mushrooms, if you don't mind. At least mushrooms on one side, if anything.” Jackson was kicking his shoes off, his back turned to Jaebum now.

“Okay—I’ll-, yeah, ok.” Jaebum stuttered.

\--

Jackson looked much younger now, in Jaebum’s clothes, his face fresh and clear, hair damp from the shower. Jaebum’s t-shirt was slightly too big for him, his flannel pajama bottoms a little long. He was scarfing down pizza slices in 3 bites at a time, sitting cross-legged on the plush couch in the living room. Jaebum had long given up on the idea of getting more than a slice in fear of getting his hand bitten off in the process.

“Where can I sleep? This couch is probably too fancy for sleeping right? The floor looks comfortable enough anyway.” Jackson mumbled in between bites, digging his toes into the white carpeted rug.

“What, no.” Jaebum blinked. “I have a guest room you can sleep in. And sleeping on this couch would be fine anyways.” The floor? How much of a dick move would it be to force someone who had just been hit in the face to sleep on the floor? “I’m kind of an asshole, but I’m not that bad.” He muttered, watching Jackson smile.

 _Fuck_ , that smile.

“This means a lot man.” Jackson mumbled between mouthfuls. “I dunno where I would've slept. Maybe Mark's but he's got this new--" He trailed off suddenly before jumping back in excitedly. "Anyways, thanks for letting me stay and not shoving a shit ton of questions at me.”

Jaebum shrugged. He had a shit ton of questions, sure, but it wasn’t his place to ask. Besides it was just one night. “I take it you were staying with that guy or something?” he said. “Do you have somewhere to go tomorrow?”

Jackson shrugged. “I’ll figure it out.” He said. “I’ll be fine.” He smiled his 1000-watt smile again, before breaking into a slow yawn. Jaebum wondered how he managed to keep his stomach so flat with the way he had devoured that pizza. Jinyoung had been big into yoga, which was far from Jaebum's thing, but when Jinyoung had started throwing the phrase 'dad bod' around (and maybe he did spend a little too much time sitting and eating, especially while working on assignments) he had reluctantly taken it up as well. He was pretty happy with his physique now, but Jackson's was out of this world. 

“Wait here.” he said, standing from the couch and picking up the empty pizza box. “I’ll get a comforter for the bed and then you can sleep.”

“Sounds great.” Jackson nodded slowly, lying down in the spot where the pizza box had just been. “You’re a cool dude.” He mumbled as an afterthought.

“Mh.” Jaebum grunted. He didn’t know if he agreed with that.

“Wait…” Jackson said faintly from the couch, and Jaebum turned to look at him. Jackson’s eyes, which had been closed, drifted open, and there was the look from before again, the look that made Jaebum’s mind go blank.

“You want anything…from me?” Jackson asked, cocking his chin slightly. His fingers, resting against his stomach, twitched to life, absent-mindedly trailing against his skin.  Jaebum wondered if he was still wearing his boxers underneath his pants. 

“Like what?” he asked, tearing his eyes away from his fingers, to Jackson’s face, which was no less distracting to look at. The more he looked at him, the more attractive Jaebum realized he was. It was a dangerous cycle.

Jackson looked at him for a while; he seemed to be thinking, his large brown eyes roaming Jaebum’s face. A beat passed, and then he smiled, closing his eyes again. “Nothing.” He said quietly.

“Are you sure?” Jaebum asked, already moving towards the hallway closet, dropping the empty box off in the kitchen. He pulled the comforter out of the closet and moved into the guest room which sat across the hall from his own, spreading the bed carefully and changing the pillowcases on the pillows for good measure.

“I put a couple of bottles of water in your room if you get thirsty at night or something…” Jaebum said, walking back to the couch where Jackson lay, eyes shut.

“Hey…” Jaebum said, reaching over the edge of the couch to nudge Jackson awake. “You can sleep now…”

Nothing.

Jackson’s lips were parted; Jaebum could see the two small places in which they had split. The image of Jackson’s defiant, fearless expression before he had been hit flashed across Jaebum’s mind. He looked much younger and more fragile now than before, flushed cheeks and a relaxed expression. Jaebum wanted to pick him up and carry him to his bedroom, bridal style, but that seemed ridiculous. This wasn't a movie. This was a complete stranger. So instead, he draped the comforter over Jackson on the couch, adjusting the cushion under his head. 

“Goodnight.” he mumbled awkwardly, and Jackson groaned incoherently in response, rolling unto his side. Jaebum clicked the light off, biting the inside of his cheek.

He had so many questions.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson likes to think things will work themselves out in the end--Mark disagrees.

Jackson was gone. The bed he had slept in sat unmade, Jaebum’s pyjamas neatly folded on top of the crumpled comforter. There were no other signs he had ever been there, aside from the melted icepack on the kitchen counter, the half-drunk cup of coffee, and _this_.

Turning it over and over in his hand, his feet cold against the marble bathroom floor, Jaebum stared at the small black and pink card, and the faint line of writing in the lower right-hand corner.

 _Jackson Wang- Sub 2-B,_ followed by an address Jaebum found vaguely familiar. It was only 9:05, he realized upon checking his watch. Jackson had left _at most_ after only four hours of sleep, a concept which Jaebum found difficult to grasp. Why not sleep when you could sleep? It was only after picking up the guard that Jaebum noticed it wasn’t the only thing Jackson had left on the counter. A small gold bar bracelet was there, with little circles with lines drawn through them all around it. It looked expensive. He picked it up, along with the card, and put both into his pocket. He had to meet with his professor and then his mother, and he wasn’t looking forward to either in particular.

\--

“Jackson, you should have called me.” Mark frowned, shaking his head. “Seriously. I can’t believe you didn’t.”

“I knew you weren’t in town last night.” Jackson shrugged. “You had that convention thing, right?”

“Don’t be weird, I would have come back for you.” Mark scowled, tipping Jackson’s chin upwards and swiping his thumb across his lower lip, tutting. “He fucking hit you. You’re not going back to him; you know that right?”

“I know. I was ending it.” Jackson said, pulling away. “Don’t get all big brother on me. Why are you acting so nice anyway? Taecyeon isn’t here, you know.” Taecyeon was one of the club managers—staying in his good books was necessary for survival at Club X.

Mark flashed a toothy grin, observing Jackson gently. “I know you hate being _fussed_ over. But don’t do that again, I’m _serious_ Jackson. You said he hadn’t hit you in forever.”

“He hadn’t.” Jackson slid off the stool in front of the dressing room mirror, leaning in close towards Mark, slinging his arms around his shoulders lightly. “Are you worried, Mark?” he asked, teasingly, reaching for the pale pink collar around Mark’s neck. It was 2 inches wide, with a thick metal hoop through the center, and rested just above his collarbones. Mark rolled his eyes, looking at Jackson’s reflection in the backlit mirror. “You live on the edge Jackson Wang, even for someone in our line of work.”

 

“You guys are here early.” Wonho trudged into the dressing room, his expression distracted and drained, a backpack slung over his shoulder.

“How was your audition?” Mark asked, as Wonho collapsed unto the stool to his right.

“Exhausting.” Wonho replied, lolling his head back exaggeratedly before offering the other two a tired smile. “Choreography is _so_ intense for backup dancers, especially in these kinds of auditions.”

“What group would this be for anyways?” Jackson asked, leaning forward to catch Wonho’s eye in the mirror.

“No idea.” Wonho shrugged. “They don’t tell you until you get it, or at least make call backs.”

“You should demand to be a solo artist.” Jackson insisted resolutely. “You’re way too good to be a backup dancer for some newbie idol group.”

“Mh, let’s _hope_ I’m good enough.” Wonho threw a grateful smile Jackson’s way, digging around in his knapsack before pulling a few items from it, including his collar.

Wonho’s collar was only half an inch thick, pale blue, with a thin metal heart looping through the center. He had only been a pet for 4 months—a drop in the bucket compared to Mark’s two and a half years. Both Mark and Wonho had a partiality for thick oversized sweaters and ripped jeans while they were off work. They were similar heights and body types--Wonho being a little bit taller and more muscular, and they were both born in 1993. They both were well-known in the pet community, but had very different styles when it came to pet play, Wonho being much more aggressive and Mark much more relaxed and docile.

The thing they shared in common more than anything, was the fact that they were owned by the same Master. Mark claimed he was _great_ , discrete and attractive enough, giving them freedom to do as they liked most of the time, respecting their boundaries. Among his best traits were the fact that he was not married, treated his pets well, and understood the rules of the pet community. Most importantly, he gave the best allowances. 

Jackson had never met their owner before. According to Mark he was a high-profile businessman with a lot to lose if he were ever caught. Mark lived with him—Wonho still lived on his own, but it looked like he would be invited into the home soon enough. He had only just been collared a few weeks ago, Jackson watched how carefully he handled his collar, clicking it into place at the back of his neck, centering the heart at the hollow of the base of his neck.

He had been more excited to be collared than he had let on.

Unfortunately, Mark’s situation meant he had no place of his own to offer Jackson to crash at—the rules of his Master’s place were plentiful--and legally binding, one of them being, no non-pets allowed. Jackson had always found that ironic; today it wasn’t quite as funny to think about.

“You know; I can probably talk to Shim. He’s been looking for a new pup and—” Mark started after a few beats of silence.

“No way.” Jackson cut Mark of with a deft shake of his head. “I’m not cut out for the pet industry Mark, you _know_ that.”

Mark bit at his lower lip, his tongue piercing flashing briefly. “So, what then?”

“I’ll think of something.” Jackson said, reaching into his knapsack. He didn’t have a collar; _Jackson Wang_ didn’t do collars. Wild and free, that was his motto, being tied down had never been a part of his plan. Somehow he had gotten sucked into a ‘relationship’ for the last couple of months; he knew it was his own fault for not putting a backup plan into place, but he had never let his guard down for a second through all of it, his knapsack was always packed and ready with what he really needed if he ever had to make a swift exit. When things got too controlling. It always happened.  

“You always say that. You'll think of _something_.” Mark said softly, exhaling.

“And I always do.” Jackson flashed his 1000-watt grin, but Mark was impervious, after over a year of working together and seeing that smile in too many contexts to count, he knew how to look past it, he knew what Jackson’s real smile looked like.

“The last time _you thought of something_ you ended up with a guy who hits you.”

“Twice.”

“Twice too many times. I still don’t think you’re getting how messed up that is,” Mark frowned, pausing for another beat before speaking decisively. “Okay, listen, I’ll float you some cash. I know you’ll be good for it eventually.”

“You’re saving for grad school, no.” Jackson said defiantly. “I don’t enough money for a place right now anyways, I don’t have the _credit_ to even get approved for a place. Cash isn’t going to help me right now. Mark, I’ll figure it out. Couchsurfing, a hostel, mayb—”

“Sounds like you need a roommate.” Wonho blinked, emerging from the backroom, a pair of white cat ears with velvet pink interiors nestled in his hair.

“A roommate?” Jackson repeated. “I don’t want to live with some random that kills me while I sleep or something.” Jackson was not a fan of potential sleep murder. 

“Jackson, you realize you’re a stripper right?” Wonho asked, smiling.

“Exotic dancer,” Jackson interjected, stifling a yawn. “And what’s your point?”

“If anything, you’re the one they would find weird.” Wonho pointed out, stripping down and starting to change into his uniform for the night. “So happy to be on bar duty tonight, my feet are so fucking sore, god.”

“You’re the only one that makes as much at the bar as they do on stage anyways.” Mark said. “Guys can’t resist you in those cat ears.”

“What about me.” Jackson mumbled, pouting. “I make lots at the bar too…”

Mark laughed, glancing towards Jackson. “Do you need all the attention, all of the time Jackson?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

“No.” Jackson replied, jutting his chin out. “Just _most_ of the attention, _most_ of the time.” He burst into a fit of his famous hyena giggles, and Mark smiled back, even though concern still reflected clearly on his face.

“Besides Mark, _anything_ you do makes more than any of us. Guys don’t know what to make of you when they see you. You could stand on the stage in your pyjamas and make money.” Wonho said. He was only exaggerating a little, the second Mark stepped on stage, the base was packed—there had been nights he’d made double other dancers before even taking his belt off. There was a phrase for trying to work a stage at the same time as Mark-- 'sudden death'.

“Okay. I’m just going to stand in the corner and be ugly now.” Jackson pouted, slumping over in his stool, glancing over towards the other two in hopes of attention.

“Oh please Jackson. You _know_ you’re popular. Guys are always hanging around wanting to talk to you after every one of your shows. Don’t ac—”

“Jackson, someone’s here to speak with you, he said you’ll want to see him. Im Jaebum?” Taecyeon pushed his head into the dressing room, glancing around until he spotted Jackson. “I can get rid of him, I’m only telling you because he had one of your cards—you don’t hand those out to just anyone, right?”

“See what I mean?” Wonho shrugged amicably, while Mark looked at Jackson inquisitively, his expression asking ‘who’s that?’.

“Oh.” Jackson blinked, recognizing the name after a couple seconds. The guy from last night? ‘Why’, he wondered, his nerves tingling. He hadn’t mentioned he worked here, that wasn't something he talked about. It had been nice, the way Jaebum had looked at him. Really nice. And he was hot as fuck, if not a little uptight. Why was he here though. Jackson shifted nervously for a second before nodding. "Yeah sure, I'll talk to him."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. Hi!

“So what, this a turn-on for you?” Jackson asked ruefully, flicking the bracelet Jaebum and gingerly pulled from his pocket between his fingers. “Saving damsels in distress?” He gazed down at his bracelet, before chancing a glance at Jaebum. This guy, he hadn’t been able to get a grasp on him last night. He was gorgeous, like, the kind of guy Jackson would sleep with just for fun—which, god, had been forever ago. ‘I should fix that.’ Jackson noted briefly, before returning to his train of thought. Yeah, this guy, Jaebum. He’d been weird.  
“What? No. It looked expensive and I was just…around.” Jaebum shifted anxiously, tossing a hand vaguely in the direction of ‘around’.  
“Around, huh?” Jackson chuckled, finally looking up at Jaebum, clicking his bracelet on. “Were you in the neighbourhood pawning family heirlooms? Looking for good Molly? I know a guy.” A blast of police sirens went off suddenly in the near distance, and Jaebum flinched, shifting on his heels.  
“Well,” He hesitated, before smiling faintly. “Your card had your address on it so—”  
“Thanks.” Jackson said quickly, flashing a smile. His skin prickled under his sweater. If he hadn’t been so…messed up the night before he would have never gone back to this guys place. That was one of his biggest rules. There was never an investigation when a stripper went missing. He had gotten out of there first thing in the morning and yeah, the dude seemed harmless enough, but now he knew where he worked? He’d had plenty of bad stalker episodes start just like this.  
“You’re too kind.” He said briskly, trying to maintain warmth in his voice. “Coming all the way out here, you shouldn’t have.”  
Jaebum shrugged.  
“Anyways, you should probably get out of here before someone steals your hubcaps.” Jackson continued, nodding to what he assumed was Jaebum’s telsa, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the run-down cars parked on the curb.  
“Yeah.” Jaebum nodded, but he made no motion to move. “Uh…how are you feeling?”  
“Fine. Great.” Jackson smiled, nodding. “…Uh…well, I-”  
“So I was wondering if I could interview you.” Jaebum blurted suddenly.  
Jackson blinked, confused. “…Interview me? For what?”  
\--  
“And? What’d he say?” Wonho yelled over the constant thud of a hip-hop track, pounding so loudly the bottles lining the bar tremored to the beat.  
“He’s in sociology? Or psychology? He’s doing something for his thesis. He wants to interview me about my experiences in the ‘industry’.” Jackson rolled his eyes, filling tumblers with ice as Wonho served the hungry customers hovering by the bar.  
“Ew. You think he’s just trying to smash?” Wonho asked, smiling benevolently as overeager patrons shoved crushed dollar bills tips into his palms. On the main stage, Mark’s act was just getting started, and a large crowd was beginning to gather at the base of the stage.  
“Maybe?” Jackson mused. “He’s like…weird though. I dunno, but he’s not—I mean, he’s kind of hot.”  
“So you wouldn’t be opposed.” Wonho inferred, wriggling his eyebrows. The line at the bar was quickly thinning as clients eagerly scurried towards the stage to watch Mark.  
“I guess.” Jackson shrugged. “I’m not like, looking, but maybe something quick. College kids aren’t my type, really.”  
“About five decades too young?” Wonho teased, impulsively dodging whatever Jackson was about to throw at him—in this case, a couple of ice cubes.  
“Listen.” Jackson was amused, but he attempted to feign seriousness. “I don’t have a da-”  
“Daddy kink??” Wonho chimed in, beaming. “Jackson, what a weird and random thing to bring up suddenly. Why would you even think that? Guess it must be true.”  
“You’re so ANNOYING.” Jackson exploded, bursting into a characteristic fit of giggles, while resisting the urge to tickle and/or dump ice down the back of Wonho’s shirt. Everyone loved to tease him about this completely fabricated ‘kink’. He didn’t have a freaking daddy kink, he didn’t even like the word kink. He just liked a good time, and whoever could give him that. Sometimes, that person ended up being an older gentleman, but he swore it didn’t matter.  
“By the way,” Wonho said, grabbing the pitcher of ice from Jackson’s hands, just in case he was planning another assault. “Come sleep at mine tonight. I won’t have it much longer and I don’t want you on the streets.”  
Jackson wrinkled his nose. “I don’t want to hear your sex noises.” He whined. The last time he had slept at Wonho’s, he had been forced to listen to a million faux ‘uuuhhh, yes, yes, fuck me’s, as Wonho did his best to stroke the tender ego of well-paying clientele. Jackson had no problem with a good sex soundtrack, but the distinct, forced moans of a bad lay hurt him on a spiritual level. He had considered going in and saving his friend from what he was sure was an over-eager, short-stroking dumbass with cash to burn, if not for the fact that he was so bad at faking enjoyment and he’d been too tired to bother. All in all, it had been a frustrating experience.  
“Hey, you forget, I’m a kept boy now.” Wonho smiled, the glimmer of pride shining his voice. “I’m not even allowed to take anyone home anymore, so don’t worry.”  
“Oh. Well in that case.” Jackson grinned, slinging his arm around Wonho’s shoulder. “Count me in, roomie!”


End file.
